As far as Wayne was concerned, John’s Island was seriously misnamed. The place should have been called Castle-by-the-Sea.
Two lanes ran side by side, one for cars and the other for golf carts. Wayne spotted a couple in matching togs and tans seated inside an electric surrey, right down to the fringed top. They were followed by a metallic silver cart with a fake Rolls Royce hood. Palms marched down both sides of both lanes in well-behaved rows. The orderliness defied anyone to speak an improper word or break rules that had no need of being posted. Even Tatyana lost her taste for speed.
“I hate this place already,” Wayne declared.
Tatyana was too busy being tense to respond. She turned into a drive of pearl-white paving stones and rumbled up to a palace only slightly smaller than Disney’s. Two peaked turrets sprouted from opposite ends, both sheathed in plates of polarized glass. The effect was like being inspected by a pair of frog eyes wearing Wayfarers.
She cut the motor but made no move to open her door. “There’s one more thing I need to tell you.”
“How did the cop know about the problem here?”
“He doesn’t exactly …” She waved that aside. “I need to tell you something. I fear I may have misspoken. The angel did not say my associate must find a warrior.”
“I thought you didn’t believe in angels.”
The hand waved a second time. “What he said was, my associate’s challenge was to find himself a hero.”
“Mr. Grusza, did I say that right? Easton Grey.”
The man had a gaze to match his name, clear as winter smoke, biting and deep. There was nothing easy about this man—no wasted motion, no spare flesh. He was not small so much as economical. Wayne decided he would hate to sit across the poker table from this guy.
That is, if a guy who believed in angels played cards.
Mr. Grey might have been dressed for at-home casual. He might offer Wayne a buddy handshake and lead them through the living room into a small parlor by the kitchen. He might even pour coffee for them himself. But there was no question in Wayne’s mind. Right from the get-go, he knew.
This guy was the real deal.
While on duty, he had met a couple of generals. Not on parade. In the field. Out where it counted. And both of those guys, they could take their medals off and pack away all the stars, and they would still be who they were. Leaders.
Just like this guy.
“How do you take your coffee, Mr. Grusza?”
“Black is fine.”
“Take a seat anywhere. Tatyana, would you like anything?”
“I’m fine, thank you, Mr. Grey.”
Wayne noted that. How even the frost queen was toned down in front of this guy. And no hint of lovey-dovey between them. Just a superior and his subordinate. Two pros.
Here to discuss a divine visitation.
“Do you believe in God, Mr. Grusza? I know your father was a pastor.”
“And his sister,” Tatyana added.
“Of course. But I still need to know. Are you a man of abiding faith?”
Wayne set his coffee on the table between them. “Probably not.”
Wayne took his time and scanned the place. The floors were patterned marble throughout all the rooms he had seen, including the kitchen. The coved ceilings were too high to measure, sixteen or maybe even eighteen feet. The kitchen had an open layout, with domed little false halls separating it from the living room on one side and the dining room on the other. The room where they now sat was an alcove that fronted onto the pool area and a long sloping lawn. A brown-haired girl in awkward adolescence tossed a Frisbee to a barking Lab. Beyond a border of blooming trees sparkled the blue-blue Indian River. And beyond that, over on the mainland, was a community of retirees in their little houses, three of which could fit into this guy’s living room. Reality.
Grey asked, “Are you saved?”
The guy would just not let it go. “As a kid I walked the walk, but mostly for my dad. When I left home I pretty much left all the God stuff as well. So the answer is, I really have no idea.”
They were seated in padded rattan chairs, with a glass-topped rattan table between them. The table was octagonal, like the room. The table was positioned precisely over an identical section of marble laid into the floor. The marble was as blue as the waters beyond the bay windows.
“Well, it wouldn’t be the first time God uses a miracle to bring a nonbeliever home.”
To either side of Grey’s chair were smaller versions of the rattan table. On one rested an open Bible, a pad, and a pencil. The two pages of Scripture Wayne could see were heavily annotated, words underlined, passages highlighted, comments scrawled in the top and bottom and side margins.
Grey said, “Obviously my questions have made you uncomfortable, Mr. Grusza. I apologize. But you must understand that this is a very important issue to me.”
A well-kept woman of middle years entered the kitchen. Wayne took her for Grey’s wife. She paused by the central island, straightened a container on the granite top, and moved out of Wayne’s field of vision. Something about the way she held herself, or how she glanced over and took them all in, the tight focus she pressed upon Wayne, left him certain. There was nothing off hand about her passage.
Wayne said, “Could you tell me about what happened?”
“I was at the dentist.”
“When was it?”
“A week ago. Last Thursday afternoon. The dentist was running late. There was some kind of emergency. The receptionist asked if I’d like to reschedule, but it was so hard to find the time, I thought I might as well stay. I returned a couple of calls. Gradually the place emptied out until I was the only one left. That was when he appeared.”
The young girl passed by their window. Up close she resembled her father a lot—the same spare frame, the same intelligent grey eyes, the same reserve. She gave Wayne a hard stare, then glanced at her father. Clearly very worried. The Lab kept tugging on the Frisbee she held in her right hand, trying to get her to play some more. But the girl knew what was going on inside that little room, and it worried all the play out of her.
Wayne asked, “Can you describe this person?”
“African-American. Hard to guess his age. Late twenties, possibly a bit older. I’d put him at about six feet. A handsome, strong-looking face, clearly defined angles, hair cropped very short. Not big. But he moved like an athlete.”
“How was he dressed?”
“Florida standard—polo shirt, pressed khakis, loafers.”
“Anything about him that caught your eye?”
“Nothing except a sense of power.”
“What did he say?”
“That he was a messenger sent by the Most High God.”
The way Grey spoke the words, calm and straight ahead, made the angel almost real. “You didn’t think to question this?”
“At first I thought he was a pastor. I meet so many of them. Perhaps I had donated to his cause, or maybe he was going to ask me for help. I had a thousand thoughts running through my head. But one thought stood out above all the others. This man was for real.”
Wayne glanced over. Tatyana had extracted a notepad and silver pen. But she wrote nothing. And she saw only her boss. Her expression was unreadable. But her features had gone very pale. Wayne asked, “What else did he say?”
“The exchange lasted a grand total of ninety seconds. He told me that he had been sent to warn me. That I and my family and my charges were in grave danger.”
“That was the word he used, ‘charges’?”
The skin around his eyes tightened. “You know, that was an interesting thing. When he said the word, he hesitated. Like he was searching for the right term, the way a foreigner might.”
Tatyana said, “You didn’t mention this before.”
“It just struck me.”
Wayne asked, “Did he have an accent?”
“None at all. What I mean is, I couldn’t say if he was American or not. He spoke English. His voice was very deep, very strong. He told me that we were in real and immediate danger. He said that for the sake of my family and my future, I needed to take refuge in my home. I should remove myself from my work. I should watch and pray. I should seek out a hero. A man with a warrior’s past, who had learned to set aside his weapons and who gave no importance to money. A man who was strong when others were weak.”
Easton Grey stared not at the sunlight-dappled waters beyond his lawn, but at the past. “The angel walked to the door. Then it was almost like he read my mind, because I hadn’t said a word, I was too shocked. He said, ‘If you identify the right hero, he will know what needs doing.’ Then he left.”
Tatyana gave him a minute, then said, “Tell him what happened next.”
Grey directed his words at his aide. “I walked over to the receptionist. She was busy on the phone and it took a while. When she hung up I asked her who the man was that had just left. She asked, ‘What man?’ I described him. She said there was no African-American patient scheduled that day, and no new patient that week. She had no idea who I was talking about.”
Wayne said, “Somebody got to her.”
Grey nodded slowly. “That’s certainly a possibility.”
Wayne studied the man. This corporate general. “But you don’t think so.”
“Well.” Grey almost managed a smile. “I’d hate to think I’ve spent a week in hiding for no reason.”